


The Gathering of Many

by storyplease



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Gen, Metahumans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease
Summary: Many come together, as though in a dream.One is awakenedOne is judged.One watches from the shadows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This is actually a story I wrote based off of a dream that I had. It’s a bit violent and surreal, but it lingered in my head until I wrote it down.  I hope that you enjoy it.

 

The rumors are true, you know. The word is spread by word of mouth, on wing, on paper, hidden in leaves as they fall. 

 

They come.

 

Not always to the same place, but always to places abandoned by their people. Holes and cracks in normal spaces where normal people never go as long as they listen to the rising hairs on the back of their necks that tell them to stay away. 

 

I must confess, I usually do not attend these gatherings. Most have nothing to say to me- they find me odd, even in a group of oddments. Some call us metahumans, other, older cultures speak of us in whispers even if we weren't listening and name us as gods. 

 

But I don't prefer any of the words they use to name us. They are, like most words, inadequate to describe as varied a bunch as we are. 

 

Most Gatherings are simple affairs; more akin to group therapy for those who can't talk to the average person about their problems. Not all of us are the same and there are many newbies who are not exactly given a guide on how to exist in their new bodies. Many of us did not ask for or desire the abilities we have. Sometimes I think that there must be gods above us, laughing at our fumbling attempts to figure out our place in this mess we call reality, but even if there were, they are not gods that I wish to believe in. 

 

Tonight is different. The venue for the Gathering is large. From the dusty concrete floor and simple metal siding, I can tell that I'm in an old warehouse the moment I arrive. Not everyone can move like me; up and through walls as though made of smoke; so the room is relatively empty. I can smell the fight between the rusting iron and the sea breeze. Neither will really win, I know. It is a futile fight, even amongst inanimate objects. There is a hint of old blood and the many deaths, large and small, that have been here. But I can also smell the sweet scent of life and its years of duration, and it draws me like the scent of the most delectable food imaginable. 

 

Many arrive in groups. It's strange to think “carpool,” but that is exactly what they are. The methods are always different; there are as many ways to travel long distances amongst our kind as there are in the normal human world. There is a little discussion and a few hugs even before the Translator arrives and spreads her influence through the room. Communication isn't just about language, after all. It's in how the eyes crinkle and the mouth widens in a smile and how hands clasp tightly and arms open wide for an embrace. 

 

Not many greet me, but I am used to that. Some of the new faces eye me warily. They've seen me around, I know, but never here. For me to come here is significant, for I will not be helping those elsewhere as long as I am here. 

 

For a long, dark hour, the world holds its breath and waits for my return, even though I am, in the long run, only the facilitator. 

 

“Hallo perty lady!” A gap-toothed grin appears in the little girl's face as she stares up at me, her brown face sprinkled with darker brown freckles as her hair flies out around her head in riotous curls. She has on the sort of white dress that reminds me of Sunday School, all lace and formality. She almost glows in the fluorescent light, and I can smell the heady aroma of fertile earth and springtime flowers. 

 

“Come away, Felicity!” An old woman, wrinkled but proud, her eyes as bright and intimidating as ever, says. “Do not bother her; she is here for a purpose.”

 

The little girl runs back to her mentor, and it is only then that I see the glowing green grass that grows in the footsteps of her glossy black Mary Janes. 

 

“Good evening, Miz Agatha,” I say, my voice deep as I wave gently at the little girl. “You are as lovely as last we met.”

 

The woman blushes and shakes her head. “Don't you try sweet-talkin’ me, you menace. You've taken more things from me than I'd care to admit!”

 

Her words are fierce but her voice is kind and we fix each other with a look of mutual understanding. 

 

“She needs to know,” Miz Agatha says, her expression firm as she walks away with Felicity close behind. 

 

I offer no comment on her choice. It is not my place to do so.

 

I stay near the back in the many shadows so as not to draw too much attention. Not everyone here reacts to me well. For once, my unusual height gives me the advantage, and I see that the Gathering is about to start. 

 

A spotlight switches on and a short, stout man wearing a multitude of colorful bangles on each arm claps his hands loudly. He smiles as the hushed voices of the crowd fade away. 

 

“Friends,” he says, though his lips move in a different way than the sound of his voice. “We have many things to speak of tonight, so I appreciate your timeliness. I expect that many of you have come a long way and will need to return before the night is over. Let us first thank the Translator, for helping bring the gift of understanding to our meeting.”

 

Applause echoes through the darkened space and an androgynous figure wearing a jaunty cap and dark glasses smiles and takes a short bow. 

 

The Translator is a friend. One of few that I have, but I know better than to step forward and make my presence known. Tonight is not about me, though I am involved. Tonight is about... _her_.

 

“Many of you here tonight are unaware of this, but one of our kind has just awakened recently. She comes tonight demanding justice.”  The man clasps his hands together and steps back, allowing a figure to emerge from the shadows. 

 

She is bloated and swollen, her face and body swimming with the rainbow sheen of oil as it swirls and moves under her skin. Dark red and orange orbs float around her body as she shuffles with great effort towards the center of the spotlight. Inside each orb is what appears to be a fish, though I cannot tell what kind of fish they are. The orbs grow larger, then smaller, shrinking against the skin of her body like fiery opals built into her chest and shoulders.

 

Another light appears and a middle aged man with short black hair and a myriad of tattoos running down his neck and legs stands in the middle of it. His eyes are closed, but it isn't hard to tell from his pajamas and deep breathing that he is asleep.  Two twin teenaged girls are holding hands behind him, their forefingers pressed against their temples. Both wear identical crescent moon necklaces, which twinkle in the harsh light.  Wordlessly, they turn to look at one another and smile mischievously, pointing their fingers at the man.  His eyes open at once and go wide, but the rest of him stays still.

 

“Many thanks to Tsuki and Yuki for so quietly bringing the man whose actions and cruelty have led to this terrible injustice.” The man with the bangles claps heartily, his wrists jingling raucously as the rest of us join in. A tall, blond man, who looks like he's wrapped up in a large, green blanket, unfurls his arms and lifts off the ground whooping loudly. 

 

“Okay, okay. That's enough!”  The voice rings sharply through the air and everyone settles down again. 

 

“Lupita will be assisting us with helping to give a voice to our new sister,” the spokesman continues, gesturing with one hand. His warning look assures that only a smattering of applause follows his announcement. 

 

A woman strides forward, her body covered in layers of skirts and scarves. One eye is cloudy as though blinded, but I know that even a dead eye can see in its own way. 

 

She speaks in a hushed voice to the oil-slick woman and I can tell that the words she uses are a comfort to her. Pulling back the long, sheer sleeves of her outfit to reveal long, dark fingers with impeccably manicured nails, Lupita places them gently over the bloated woman’s ears and looks up with only her dead eye fixed on the ceiling. The spotlights flicker and dim as a bright stream of light pours from her eye and protects an image- a memory- from inside the other woman’s head. 

* * *

 

“My name is Hai Fen. I work-used to work in an oil drilling facility. My father and brothers as well as my best friend Ai all worked with me. For many years, there were no problems. The company made us work long hours but there was always good pay at the end of the shift. A man came. He called himself Denny Lu. He began to court me after asking for my father's permission. At first, it was wonderful, but things became bad soon after.”

 

Her voice fades and we see a man, the same man who stands before us, only in the image, he wears a sharp suit and a friendly grin. He shows all the signs of respect and deference, and it is obvious that Hai Fen had been rather flattered by all of the attention. The image shifts and we see Hai Fen walking down a long hallway deep in the bowels of the oil rig. Every so often, she walks into a room and checks the panels, writing notes in her log book. 

 

When she opens the last door on the right, she gasps as she sees the form of her betrothed doing a number of adjustments on the system using an opened wall panel and a small device with many wires. 

 

She tries to pull him away, but he grabs a wrench and swings it at her, smashing the side of her head hard enough to knock her out. He turns back to his work, not realizing that she's come to and begun to crawl towards the alarm panel. 

 

I can feel the pressure in the room as those watching who still breathe hold their breaths.

 

She makes it. Pressing the button, she sinks to the floor, holding her hand against her wound to slow the blood flow. 

 

The man’s face contorts in fury and he takes out his rage on the panel, smashing it to bits. He then drags Hai Fen back down the hall by her leg as she weakly tries to get away, the blood leaving a faint trail on the ground. 

 

“I never loved you, you pig,” he hisses as he hoists her over the railing, the dark ocean water below. Already, a plume of smoke and fire has shot up behind him, illuminating the ugly greed in his face. “I just used you to get access. We have a big insurance claim we want to cash in, so what better way to do it than to go out with a bang?” 

 

She tries to hit him, but she's lost too much blood and she misses, which makes him laugh. 

 

“You dirty sow,” he jeers, “time for you to get a bath.”

 

He pushes her over the railing and she watches him get further and further away before the cold water shocks her and she gasps, choking on salt water. 

 

For a time, she floats, looking up at the night sky and the smoke and flame that fills part of the sky. It is fragmented, like her sense of Self. Her lips feel numb, as does much of her body, and her strength is failing fast.

 

She sinks. 

 

The water is not as dark underneath the surface, and her eyes adjust. She knows that she is dying. Her lungs are screaming but it feels so far away that she can ignore it. Instead, she wonders at the glowing fish that have surrounded her. They swim lazily in a circle, their bulbous bodies reminiscent of large goldfish. But goldfish are not sea dwelling creatures, she knows. 

 

Still, she can hear them singing to her even as she closes her eyes. 

 

_ Save us _ , sing the fish.  _ Save our waters from the dark poison and we shall make you immortal.  _

 

She shakes her head. She has no need for immortality. Especially if her family and friends have perished due to her blindness to the truth. 

 

_ Then _ , the fish sing,  _ how about revenge _ ?

 

The word hangs there- ripe, tempting. She grasps at it and nods. She would do anything to undo the wrong she's been implicit in supporting. 

 

The fish giggle and lick at her wounds. Something changes-her skin grows translucent like a jellyfish, and her hair falls long and thick like seaweed around her face. Gills appear on her sides and neck and she smiles toothily as the jagged, sharklike teeth grow in, pushing out her old, human molars. She dives down deep as debris starts to fall, but not before seeing the small speedboat with only one passenger and noting its direction. 

 

And then, thousands of droplets of oil fill the water and she knows what she must do. She pulls it into her body,  compacting it deep inside of her until every last drop is gone from the water. A shark swims lazily by and she can  _ feel _ its gratitude. 

 

She does not learn until later that only her father and one of her brothers escaped. And so, with the help of the newly-awakened power within her, she floats on the surface of the ocean, crying out for help from any that can hear. 

 

It takes many hours, but they come. Those with wide shark grins and dark human faces. Those with dorsal fins and fine, long fingers, their hair tied up with shells and seaweed and discarded fishing line.  A seal pulls off her pelt and is a woman once more, her body brown and doughy, her eyes huge and bright with sympathy. 

 

They carry her to safety. 

* * *

 

The image fades away and we can see the fear in the accused man’s eyes. 

 

“You stand here tonight because you have committed a crime that cannot adequately be punished by those in your world.” The man with the bangles on his wrists points his finger at the man in pajamas like a threatening promise. “As we all have witnessed it, so shall you be judged. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

 

The man’s mouth comes unfrozen and he sputters and swears with impotent rage. He curses our mothers and calls us savages. He runs himself down until his voice is a strangled wheeze of fury. 

 

“Is that it? No regrets? No apologies?” The voice that escapes Hai Fen’s swollen lips is a throaty growl, her fury large enough for all of us. 

 

“What are you going to do, you pig?” Denny tries to sound brave, but his voice quivers. “Kill me?”

 

“No, no, no,” the man with the bangles steps over, a horrible fake grin on his lips. “We do not kill. We merely return the hurt that was given to our kind.”

 

“Return the-?!”  The twins, Tsuki and Yuki, grin mischievously as the man’s body begins to move, his arms and legs struggling against the power that holds them still. It is obvious that this is a game; they are toying with him and giving him the chance to hope that he might be able to escape. 

 

“Yes. That is why we are here,” Lupita says solemnly, placing a hand on Hai Fen’s shoulder. “It will be fine. He shall know regret for his actions before the end.”

 

With help from Lupita, Hai Fen moves closer to her murderer, and those crowding close to the spectacle step back. It is then that I see the large grates around the man’s feet. No wonder there is such a lingering scent of blood. I must hand it to Management. A slaughterhouse is an appropriate place for this Gathering. 

 

A roar of approval rises through the room and we chant, “Give it back. Give it back. Give it back.”

 

There is a sigh that rises to a roar and we grow silent again as bright orbs filled with fiery colored fish rise into the air and float around Hai Fen once more. She retches. Droplets of black sludge pour from her eyes, nose and mouth. It is thick like paint, with an unmistakable oily sheen and a rancid smell like Hell itself. It gathers at her feet, moving like a living thing towards the matted bunny slippers Denny wears. He screams as the foul liquid oozes through the fabric and does not stop screaming until the liquid reaches his mouth and his scream turns into a sickening gurgle. His form jerks and writhes as he is filled with oil until his skin tears open with a disturbingly wet sound like a water balloon bursting. All that remains of him washes down the drains, his shredded innards black like ichor and glossy with oil. 

 

Hai Fen still looks somewhat gray, but her skin is rubbery like a dolphin’ skin, and it no longer has a sick sheen to it. With the bloat gone, I can see that her feet end in wide, flat fins. The loose folds of her skin draws up around her until they are gone. Only faded white lines appear where the skin has stretched.  They are beautiful, traversing her body like silvery tattoos. Her mouth widens into a grin. Her pink gums, full of long teeth, are beautiful. 

 

“Thank you,” she says, bowing deeply. “Now I have justice.”

 

She walks gingerly out of the spotlight with the others and the lights click off loudly, leaving us all in the dim remains of dusty, fluorescent lighting. 

 

It is obvious that the meeting is over. Some groups mingle, talking softly, but most leave in the groups they arrived in. All are quiet, contemplative, and I wonder if they will come for the next Gathering.  

* * *

 

I am the only one who stays behind, waiting for silence to descend on me once more.  It’s easier that way.  I walk to the grate and bend down, ignoring the horrible stench.  The gray figure huddled at the bottom of the pipe below is shuddering uncontrollably and I call his name three times before he hears me.

 

“Y...you’re just going to...hurt me more, aren’t you?” he asks accusingly in his native tongue. The Translator is long gone, but I know his language. It’s part of my job, after all.

 

“No. I am not here to hurt you.” My voice is soft and deep and even.  Some have told me that it is hypnotic, but if it is, I cannot tell if it is true.

 

His face is blurry and nearly transparent as he looks up at me. “No...no...I can’t….I won’t…”

 

“Come up here.” It is not a request, and he floats up through the grate in a misty cloud before solidifying slightly beside me. “Now, that’s better.  You must come with me. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

 

“Why? So I can go to a hellish place filled with fire? I’ve read of what happens...after.”

 

I shrug. “It is not my place to go there with you, only to lead you to it. I can, however, promise that nothing will harm you on the way. And I can promise you that there are plenty of things that  _ will _ harm you if you stay here.”

 

A raspy scratching noise seems to run up one of the far walls and we both stare at it for a moment as though waiting for something to appear.

 

Nothing does.

 

His face grows slightly more solid and I can see that he is looking down at the tiny bits of ruined flesh that are still wedged between the slats in the grate.  He looks at me and nods.

 

“There is nothing for me here,” he says, more to himself than to me.

 

“Take my hand, then,” I say, “It will be easier to stay together that way.”

 

A wispy tendril extends, and I take it easily.  He seems surprised at how solid my grip is on his hand.

 

“I...did evil things…” he says, his face full of shame. “It was….my fault...I let greed fill my heart. There were moments that I even enjoyed it. But now I realize that it didn’t mean anything...none of it.  Do you think it will matter? That I feel this way?”

 

I shrug. “I cannot say, but it seems to have helped you.”  I point and he looks down at himself, more of a distinct outline of a body in spectral smoke. 

 

“Will you hold my hand...the whole way?” His voice is still a man’s voice, but the words are like a child’s, and I smile, my gaze absent of judgement.  

 

It is not my job to judge, only guide.

 

“Yes,” I say, “Yes, I shall.”

  
And, with the wind under my feet and the cold sky running over our figures, we disappear into night on the way to the border to whatever comes next.


End file.
